


Thunderstorm

by MissVioletHunter



Series: The Storm series [1]
Category: Wallander (UK TV)
Genre: Adultery, F/M, Sexual Content, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissVioletHunter/pseuds/MissVioletHunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magnus Martinsson recalls a tempestuous love affair he once had in the middle of a thunderstorm. Songfic, inspired on "L'Orage" (The Storm) by the French singer-songwriter Georges Brassens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderstorm

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story made of firsts: My first Magnus fic, first time I've written in first person, and first time I've tried telling the story from a man's perspective. Critique and comments are always welcome.

I had a great love during a thunderstorm. And it left such an impression in me that now good weather makes me sick.

_Parlez-moi de la pluie et non pas du beau temps,_  
 _Le beau temps me dégoûte et m' fait grincer les dents._  
 _Le bel azur me met en rage,_  
 _Car le plus grand amour qui m'fut donné sur terre_  
 _Je l'dois au mauvais temps, je l'dois à Jupiter._  
 _Il me tomba d'un ciel d'orage._

_(Talk to me about the rain and not the fine weather,  
_ _Fine weather disgusts me and sets my teeth on edge._  
The beautiful blue sky makes me furious,  
 _For the greatest love that was granted to me on Earth_  
 _I owe it to the bad weather, I owe it to Jupiter._  
 _It struck me like a thunderbolt from a stormy sky.)_

**"Swedish skies were lit up yesterday by close to 40,000 lightning strikes and parts of the country suffered major power outages when a massive thunderstorm traveled across the country between Thursday and Friday. According to meteorologists at the Swedish Meteorological and Hydrological Institute (SMHI) we can expect more of the same in the following hours. The SMHI has issued a class 1 warning, which means there could be power cuts and certain risks to the general public, in the areas between Malmö and Ystad..."**

I got up, turned off the radio and paced around my living room with a cup of cold coffee in my hand. This promised to be the worst Friday night in months. It was mid-November, and after a week of heavy rain and storms that had practically paralyzed the town, I was feeling irritable and grumpy. We had been swamped at the police station for days, buried in paperwork. Apparently criminals didn't like to be struck by lightning, so they remained hidden in their holes. Most of the calls we got were from citizens whose garages had been flooded, so I kindly (well, not so kindly after it happened four times in a row) redirected them to the Firefighters station and returned to doing nothing.

Actually, when I wasn't working, I loved thunderstorms. Watching them from my window was like a forbidden, reckless reminder that nature was a wild force to behold. The remote but distinct possibility of a lightning blast coming through the glass was incredibly exciting. As I peered out of the balcony, the black clouds started throwing tantrums against each other, the rumbling noise becoming louder and mixing with the howling of the wind. With the possibility of power cuts in mind I took out a few candles, displaying them over the living room table and the kitchen countertop, and made a fresh pot of coffee. I was craving to sink my teeth into something hot and sweet, so I also put a few cinnamon rolls in the microwave.

As if the storm had read my mind, exactly five minutes later the power went off. Not only on my house: the whole street was dark, and the occasional burst of lightning gave the phantom-like silhouettes of the buildings a ghastly glow. Cursing under my breath, because the lack of electricity also meant no heating, probably for the rest of the night, I lit the candles and fetched a blanket from the cupboard, letting myself fall on the sofa.

I had barely started to drink my coffee and enjoy the background noise of the rain and the wind, when a quick rap on the door interrupted my thoughts. I cursed again, this time loudly. I wasn't exactly keen on fraternizing with my neighbours, and surely this was going to be one of them, asking for a candle, a cup of sugar or some other stupid favour. I considered not answering the door at all and pretending not to be at home, but the knocking persisted. Not only that: after a while it morphed into a loud banging, accompanied by a voice.

"Please, oh please, help me!"

I was a woman's voice, and she sounded scared. Desperate. I hurried to my room and retrieved my gun from the holster, tucking it into the back of my trousers. Just in case. With the next flash of lightning illuminating the sky, I opened the door to find an unexpected view before me. Standing at the threshold, holding an unlit candle in her trembling hands, stood my neighbour from across the hallway. Barefoot and scantily covered in a white satin dressing gown and (I supposed) a nightgown under it. She looked like a gift from the God of Storms, begging to be unwrapped.

"I... I am your neighbour from..."

"Yes, I know. Come in, you must be freezing out there."

She and her husband had moved in just a couple of months before, and I barely knew anything about them except for the names on their mailbox. I had seen the man a few times on the staircase, as I went to work or returned from it. We never talked, except for an occassional "good morning." He was a French individual with a petulant smile and a detestable taste in ties. The wife, on the other hand, was exactly the kind of woman that made my blood boil. Any man's blood would have boiled at the sight of those curves, topped with a pair of black eyes that were fixed on me with the loveliest expression of despair.

"I am so sorry to barge on you like this..."

"What happened? Are you in danger?" I asked, ready to bolt out the door and go after whoever dared to make this beauty tremble in fear.

I saw her blush in the dim candlelight. "Oh, no, please, it's just... Oh, you will think me very stupid. You see, I am alone at home, my husband is out, and... I'm terrified of thunder. I've always been horribly scared of storms, and I've never seen one like this before. I only had one match and one candle, but it went out, the house was full of shadows, and... Could you light my candle?"

She spoke the language correctly, but with a slow cadence and a thick French accent that I found intoxicating. My mouth went dry with sheer lust as I imagined one or two things I'd love that pretty mouth to do to me. I wiped my palms on my jeans and cleared my throat a few times to force myself to stop staring at this bewitching woman, this woman that belonged to someone else.

Still unable to utter a word, I took a step back to let her access the living room, took my gun out of the back of my jeans and put it away safely inside a drawer. "I guess I won't be needing this. When I heard your cry for help, I thought you were being attacked."

She looked at the gun with more curiosity than fear. "You are a police officer, right, Herr Martinsson?"

"I'm a detective of the Ystad Police. But please, call me Magnus."

"Magnus", she repeated, and for the first time the fear in her eyes seemed to subside a little, until another burst of lightning splintered the darkened sky, and the thunder scared her so much that she let out a startled cry. She was shivering in her thin nightgown. I threw a furtive glance at her chest area, and you could definitely _see_ how cold she was.

"I just made coffee, please sit here and I'll get you some", I said, pointing to the sofa. Without thinking, I grabbed a small wool blanket that was folded over the back of a chair and wrapped it over her shoulders. She gasped lightly when the rough material touched her skin, nodded in agreement and sat down while I went to the kitchen and hurriedly put a couple of coffee cups and a plate of warm, sticky cinnamon rolls on a tray. I thought of asking her about the origin of her unbearable fear of storms, but then I decided to wait until she had calmed a little.

"So", I asked, handing her a cup of steamy black coffee, "what kind of man would be so cruel to let his poor wife alone on a night like this?"

"He always goes out on nights like this", she muttered, holding the blanket around her with one hand and balancing the scalding mug of coffee on the other. "You see, he... he is the owner of a company that sells lightning conductors. Whenever there's an electric storm, the technicians that work for him have to do a series of tests, in the laboratory and on an installation they have on the roof of their office, and of course he has to go to the laboratory to supervise the experiments..."

"Lightning rods", I repeated, trying very hard not to burst into laughter. "Your husband sells lightning rods."

"Yes, exactly."

Her beautiful eyes, black as ink, blinked a couple of times. She obviously failed to see the irony of the situation. What kind of moron would commit the stupid mistake of sticking lightning rods on other people's roofs, and leave his own wife so unprotected against the dangers of an unexpected _coup de foudre?_ A fateful error, indeed; an error I hoped to take advantage of.

"How come you are so far away from home? Don't they need lightning rods in France anymore?"

This made her laugh, at last. "My husband had an opportunity to... how do you say it... to partner with a Swedish firm that would help with the funding of his experiments. It's only for a few months, but I wanted to come with him. Now I don't know if I've done the right thing..."

I had the feeling that she had not adapted well to life in Ystad. There was this longing in her eyes, this loneliness. I had never seen any guests come to her flat, never heard music or loud conversations. She didn't get out much, I had seen her only once or twice at the supermarket, and never at any of the local pubs.

"You're not happy here."

"I knew it would be very different from home, but I wasn't expecting the winter to be so cold. And dark. I haven't made any friends, so I'm always alone. And now these storms, they scare the life out of me!" She covered her face with her hands. "Sorry. You must believe I'm very dumb."

Her dressing gown opened a little when she moved, and I enjoyed the sight of a slightly tanned thigh for a couple of seconds, before she covered it again.

"I think you're brilliant. And very brave", I remarked, offering her a cinnamon roll.

"Oh, I'm just not."

"Don't underestimate yourself. You're giving your husband all your support, moving with him to the other end of Europe and enduring life in a strange town. And tonight you're going to confront your fear of thunderstorms. I will help you."

Mentally blessing the genius Benjamin Franklin and his invention, I stood up and walked towards the balcony, extending a hand to her. She moved slowly, like a mermaid underwater, letting the blanket fall to the floor and following me with silent barefoot steps on the hardwood floor. I stood between her and the closed window, and she finally let her fingers tangle with mine. Her hand was small and incredibly warm, like a ray of sun in the middle of the bitter cold. So warm and so soft...

"I want you to look outside and wait for the next lightning to appear. Let your eyes follow its movement, see how it rips through the darkness and then dies harmlessly on the ground. Observe the different colors of the clouds. Focus on the beauty of the light and the sound of the rain falling on the street. And, when the thunder rolls, you're going to hold on to my hand, squeeze it as hard as you need, and know that you're safe. The storm won't be able to reach you while I'm here."

She allowed me to move her in front of the window, with her back a couple of inches away from my chest. I held my breath, lingering in the faint scent of summer that emanated from her long, dark hair. We didn't have to wait long before a flash of light pierced the sky, and I felt her nails dig into my palm while she let out a soft whimper.

"Shhh", I whispered. "Don't move. You're safe with me."

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, and before the count of three a loud thunder exploded. The storm was getting closer. She instinctively backed towards me and I bit my lip to stifle a groan, hoping she didn't notice the sudden hardness on the front of my trousers.

"That was one. One harmless lightning, and you're standing strong. See? It may be scary, but it can't hurt you." My lips were close to her ear, and I slid an arm around her waist, preventing her from getting away. She seemed to relax into my touch a little.

"I know it can't hurt me. If only I could stop feeling so frightened..."

"Here comes the next one. Ready? Don't close your eyes, I'll know if you cheat."

I heard her tinkling laughter again, and she stood very still through the next booming noise. This time she just squeezed my fingers for a short moment, tilting her head to look at me.

"Two. You're doing great."

"I had never thought of this as beautiful before, but..."

"It really is a lovely sight", I said, finishing her sentence.

"But... You're not even looking outside."

"I don't need to look outside. The beautiful sight is right here before my eyes." I finally said it, and she didn't blush or lower her eyes. She just stood there, listening while my increasingly ragged breath rushed in and out of my lungs.

Another lightning. Not even one Mississippi this time before the thunder. The storm was almost over our heads.

I let go of her hand and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. "Three. And you're not afraid anymore, right?"

"Magnus..."

The sound of my name on her lips was the last strand. I had to kiss her, or the raging storm outside would be nothing compared to what was happening inside of me. She tasted like coffee and brown sugar, and her lips were as soft as I had imagined. She leaned into the kiss with abandon, her gorgeous body pressing into mine. Her hands found their way into my hair, pulling me down while she nipped at my earlobe, the little minx. I felt her pulse quickening while the soft skin of her throat shivered under my tongue, and I had to pause for a moment. I wanted to graze my teeth on that glorious neck, but I remembered just in time that she wasn't mine to mark.

I ran my fingers over her cheek, her neck, the hollow of her throat. She had closed her eyes; her lips were moving, like in prayer, but no sound came out from them. I untied the belt of her dressing gown, slowly, enjoying the satiny feel of the fabric. The gown fell open, exposing her lovely state of _deshabillé_ before my hungry eyes. Only a thin, short nightgown stood between her skin and my growing need.

She was touching me now, opening the buttons of my shirt one by one, her fingertips trailing over my neck and my shoulders. With a playful smile she leaned down to kiss my chest, and I had to fight back the urge to slam her against the wall and take her right there, like an animal. I wanted to give her time to explore, but at the same time I needed so badly to touch her, to taste her, to bury myself inside her body. As delicately as I could, I pushed her back a little against the window. She shivered when the cold glass touched her back and I felt her nipples harden under my palms, stretching the thin satin of her nightgown. Unable to resist any more, I lowered my mouth to one of her soft mounds, teasing the other one with my thumb until the sweet sound of her moans filled the room.

It was finally time to unwrap the present that the night had given me. Taking the straps of her nightgown between my fingers I stood still for a second, waiting for her to give me some sort of sign. Some definite clue to be completely sure that our forbidden desire was to be carried on until the last consequences. With a sigh, she put her hands over mine and helped me slide the garment down her lovely, perfectly round shoulders, and then lower, until it pooled around her feet.

I swear I heard the fucking angels sing, chorus and all, in full force. And of course I did the only thing I could think of when confronted with a celestial vision: fall on my knees.

A few seconds passed before I realized I was holding my breath. If she had asked me to kill for her, to die for her, right in that moment, I would have. My hands flew to her hips, gripping her tightly before pressing my lips, reverentially, to her lace-covered heat. Her trembling fingers held onto my head again, tugging at my hair in an effort to bring me closer. I hooked my fingers around the edge of her knickers and ripped them off, plunging desperately with lips and tongue into her sweet folds. My name was falling from her lips in a litany of yearning whispers, and I felt I couldn't hold back any longer.

Painful as it was, I detached myself from her wetness and licked a trail up her stomach, stopping to feast once more on her exquisite breasts before claiming her lips again. The feeling of her little tongue in my mouth made my flesh twitch. I decided that my bedroom was too far away to make the trip, so instead I led her to the sofa and set her down gently. I pulled down my trousers and boxers in one go and hovered over her, admiring every inch of her perfect skin, her tiny, gorgeous frame that was just begging to be ravished.

She raked her nails down my chest, silently asking me to cross the distance between our aching bodies, and I felt her fingers brush over my hardened length and curl around it... Slowly at first, and then with quickening strokes, until I had to grab her wrist to stop her from undoing me completely. I couldn't wait to be inside her, to feel her soft silky tightness in all its glory. I wanted to hear her sigh for me, come for me.

While my mouth closed upon hers again I slid a tentative finger inside her, caressing her soft wetness until I found her eager and ready for me. I drew a line of kisses down the side of her neck, whispering passionate words very close to her ear, and I finally placed myself at her entrance, pushing inside as carefully as my raging desire allowed me. Damn, I finally knew what heaven felt like, and it was glorious.

Whatever sweet pleasure was bursting inside her at my invasion, she was very good at showing it. I tried to keep a slow rhythm at first, but whenever I pulled out of her she reached back and grasped me around the hips, dragging me back into her. She wanted it harder, faster, and I was more than happy to oblige. All I could see was her lovely face beaming in the thralls of passion, all I could feel was the pounding of her hips against mine, her nails digging on my back, her wet heat surrounding me so perfectly that I could have cried. I felt her orgasm come and go while I was still hard inside her, and her moans of pleasure accelerated my own climax. Then I heard her laugh, softly, and I savoured that instant of perfect happiness while our bodies relaxed.

The first time was every bit intense and passionate. The second, slow and sweet, full of tenderness and cuddles, and more of her silvery laughter. The third was frantic again, needy, all rough kisses and aggressive thrusts. She drove me crazy with her little cries every time I plunged into her, and after that she finally took me deep in her mouth and drained whatever was left in me. Thank heavens for the thunder that barely muffled my growls, or all the town would have heard me scream out my release.

In the lazy hours that preceded the dawn we lay under the blanket with our limbs entwined, sharing a cigarette and talking quietly. She finally told me about the childhood experience that had made her so frightened of storms, and I told her silly jokes and gossip from the station.

And then she had to go, just as the morning came and the rain was about to stop.

"My husband will be coming back soon... He always gets a cold if I don't remind him to change his wet shoes."

"Will I see you again?"

"I'll be back with the next storm."

But, when the next storm came, she wasn't here anymore. Her husband had received an offer from an investor who wanted to buy his company, and he became a millionaire overnight. Who'd had thought that selling bits of iron could be so profitable? And he took her away, to one of those stupid countries where it never rains, where thunder is nothing but a distant memory.

It was a night just like this one. I am standing on my balcony, contemplating how the clouds become dark and heavy with the impending rain. Thinking of the little succubus that came with the storm and bewitched me.

 _Dieu fass' que ma complainte aille, tambour battant_  
 _Lui parler de la pluie, lui parler du gros temps_  
 _Auxquels on a t'nu tête ensemble_.  
 _Lui conter qu'un certain coup de foudre assassin_  
 _Dans le mill' de mon cœur a laissé le dessin_  
 _D'un' petit' fleur qui lui ressemble_...

_(God let my lament go, with beating drum_  
 _Tell her about the rain, about the violent weather_  
 _Which we faced up together._  
 _Tell her that a certain murderous thunderbolt_  
 _Has hit the bullseye of my heart_  
 _Leaving the shape of a little flower that is her likeness…)_

I let my mind wander to the distant Sahara desert, where I hope she's remembering me. Because one day, any day, I'll go and find her, and I'll bring her back to the land of cold weather and burning passion.

One day we'll be reunited in a great thunderstorm. And there will be no calm after it.

**Author's Note:**

> Note on the translation of the song: the French expression "coup de foudre" means both "burst of lightning" and "love at first sight."
> 
> Youtube link of "L'Orage" with English subtitles: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=orCEN7eIQJw


End file.
